


Picture the scene.

by zahrawrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 9x07, Bad Boys, F/M, POV First Person, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:29:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zahrawrites/pseuds/zahrawrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I sleep. I dream. I make up things that I would never say. I say them very quietly." - Richard Siken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picture the scene.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, constructive criticism and comments are always welcome.
> 
> Enjoy x
> 
> If you're interested, my Tumblr is [here](http://deanwinchestersaprettyboy.tumblr.com) :)

It’s your first ever high school dance and you’re wearing your favourite shirt. The first one you’ve ever bought from the money you saved from doing your chores. You’re trying to tie your tie but your hands keep shaking. 

You’re nervous. 

Because you never wear a tie. You’ve never had occasion. Your eyes flick to the picture taped to the wardrobe beside your bed. Now you do. Because there’s this girl. A girl with sun-kissed skin and cherry-red lips. The lips you’ve memorised. The days you’ve spent lying in the grass kissing them, touching them over and over again so that when you move away you can still feel their pressure. The lips that whisper sweet nothings like _D_ _ean, you’re perfect_  and _Dean… stay._  

Things you know you can’t be.

Things you know you can’t have.

But you want to try. Because it’s for her. This girl who saved you. Listened to you. Helped you feel a little normal. To forget the evil things you hunt and the dark things you’ve seen.

So, you stand there in the mirror, watching your reflection. You fix your tie and straighten your shirt and you absently beg for your father not to come back tonight. Because he said he would but you plead with God or whoever the fuck else is listening and your silent prayers spill over into whispers.

‘‘Please, not tonight.’’

‘‘Just let me have one more night.’’

You smile at your reflection and you think your prayers might have been listened to, that you might have gotten away with it. You lace up your boots and as you're hunched over your smile falls and your heart drops into the floor because that's when you hear it. Something you haven’t heard in two months but you would recognize the roar of that engine anywhere. Your eyes fall shut because that’s not fair.

 _Not fucking fair._  

The lump in your throat becomes harder to swallow around because you know what’s coming. And you take back all your prayers and all your ministrations because how the fuck could you think that you deserve this perfect life. How you could deserve a girlfriend you might have fallen in love with, a home that keeps you warm, a family that protects you. You ignore that small part of you that says ‘‘Dean, you deserve this. Fuck him. Just stay.’’

So, you stand and you’re so fucking angry, your blood thrumming in your veins and tears in your eyes. You hear the familiar rev of the beautiful car, it calls to you like a siren song. You're drawn to the window and you’re about to shout out of it to tell your dad to _fuck off!_ because how could he do this to you. You pull back the curtain, ready.

But then you see it.

The tears spill over and you hear a broken sob that couldn't possibly be your own but there’s no-one else in the room. You see him, wearing your old plaid shirt and playing with the toy you stole for him. Only twelve years old.

And everything just fades.

Everything. Your dad, this place, your warm bed, even your girlfriend. Because in that moment you know. You know that you will leave. You know you have to leave because you are nothing without him.

You will give it up.

Give it all up _willingly_. Your happiness, your chances and you don’t know it yet but your life, too. Because you remember rule number one, it's cemented into your heart. How could even dream of forgetting? You smile. Through your watery gaze and your drowning heart, you smile. Because you're not destined for this. You are destined for him. You are destined for him to stand by your side as you fight and you survive.

Why?

Because rule number one was always:

_‘‘Take care of Sammy.’’_

I mean, that’s the whole reason you’re here in the first place, right?


End file.
